Only Once, and Forever
by RZZMG
Summary: He fascinates her, but former Order of the Dragon member, Draco Malfoy, is strictly off-limits to former Order of the Phoenix member, Hermione Granger, who has been given in marriage to Blaise Zabini, per the War Accords. Yet, it seems impossible to stay away from the charming wizard... Draco x Hermione/Dramione. 2012 Dramione Remix Rd. 3 entry. Romance. Post-Hogwarts A/U. COMPLETE
1. Prelude & Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This was my 2012 DRAMIONE REMIX – ROUND 3 entry (dramione-remix . livejournal . com). The fest is over and reveals are out, so now I can post this for you here. This fanfic is finished, and I will put a new chapter up once a week.**

**My prompt for the fest was: **_couple -_ _Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia & Ilona Szilágyi_

**A very grateful 'thank you' goes out to my beta, Ladysashi, ****who saved me at the last minute by agreeing to take on this piece despite her busy schedule, and to the wonderful Mod for putting this amazing fest on again and allowing me not one, but two extensions!**

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**DISCLAIMER: **"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**TIMELINE:** Time line: Post-War, A/U (starts 2006).

**MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name):** Hermione Granger-Zabini, Draco Malfoy

**SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name):** Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, Blaise Zabini

**SUMMARY:** He fascinates her, with his snarky ways and his dashing smile, but former Order of the Dragon member, Draco Malfoy, is strictly off-limits to former Order of the Phoenix member, Hermione Granger, who has been given in marriage to Blaise Zabini, per the War Accords Act of 2003. Breaking her vows to her husband to be with Draco could mean an end to the peace between their sides and result in a resuming of hostilities, but it seems impossible to stay away from the charming blond wizard… especially while meeting in secret under the sheltering canopy of the magically-blooming Wisteria blossoms every Christmas Eve…

**RATING: **R (MA)

**WARNINGS:** Explicit heterosexual consensual sex; Infidelity; Romance; Happy Ending

**EXTRA NOTES:**

Vlad III (1431-1476) was known historically as "Vlad Drakul" and "Vlad the Impaler". He was a Prince of the Royal House of Drăculești ("the House of the Dragon") in the Kingdom of Hungary (known as Wallachia then). He was a Warlord and accomplished soldier, and a champion of Catholicism as a member of the Order of the Dragon (an order of military knights). Vlad's first wife (some unknown Transylvanian woman who he married young) committed suicide; she'd given Vlad his first son and heir. Ilona Szilágyi was his second wife, and a member of the royal court of Wallachia. She married Vlad soon after his first wife's death and gave him two sons. Legend states that Vlad seduced Ilona in a flower garden, but this may just be a local, romantic myth. No one knows what Ilona looked like, although it is assumed that from her heredity, she had the stock-and-trade physical traits of most Hungarians of the time: fair skin, dark, curly hair, and brown eyes (much like Hermione is depicted).

In the language of flowers, Wisteria refers to longevity, beauty, spontaneity, and love, but also serves as a warning against overly-passionate or obsessive love for sadness is sure to follow such emotion.

The Sackman = similar to the Bogeyman.

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_**ONLY ONCE, AND FOREVER**_ _**(alternatively, 'The Second Wife of The Knave of the Enchanted Wisteria Garden')**_

_**BY: RZZMG**_

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_**Prologue**_

In a brilliant flash of neon green, the Battle of Hogwarts had ended on May the second, in what would have been Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts. Both Voldemort and Harry had ended the life of the other with a simultaneously cast _Avada_.

In the aftermath, the war had continued, however, neither side willing to give up despite the loss of its iconic leaders.

After five, exhausting years, with heavy losses sustained on both sides, a truce was finally called, offered by a third, nonpartisan group made up of Centaurs, Vampires, Goblins, House-elves, Veela, a Gorgon, and even a Sphinx – all of whom called Britain their home. This group, who chose Count Vlad Drakul as their spokesperson and called themselves simply 'Third Faction', had made it clear they'd had enough of the fighting, and wanted things back to normal. Given the amount of force and power Third Faction represented, and that both the Order of the Phoenix and the Order of the Dragon –the Death Eaters' answer to the Order of the Phoenix, led by the fierce, ruthless Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother, Rabastan- had been worn down from too many years of fighting, it seemed to be in everyone's best interest to finally come to an agreement for the cessation of hostilities.

Every British wizard and witch remaining on the island, along with the members of the Third Faction, sat down to hash out a legally-binding truce, and six months later, The War Accords of 2003 were signed into law.

Part of the Accords had been the enforced nuptials between Order members of opposite factions. Reaching back into ancient European traditions, the determination was made for _"aliance"_– the old French custom of resolving disputes with matrimony. A random matching of partners had been held, split by gender and faction.

In the end, Hermione had been given to Blaise Zabini, and Draco had been paired with Astoria Greengrass, her fellow Phoenix member, as his wife.

Three years and one unconsummated marriage later, and Hermione was beginning to doubt that the Accords had been as successful as anticipated in reunifying Britain's wizards and witches.

_**/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/**_

_**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England – 24 December, 2006, Evening**_

A moment's peace, that's all Hermione had wanted. It's why she had escaped out back, to hide amongst the sweeping, fragrant Wisteria arches in the Malfoy gardens.

The dark, secret tunnel created by the bushy, lavender flowers that surrounded and insulated this part of the yard provided a sanctuary for one's senses. It was a refuge from the outside world, from its flashy colours and its vibrant noise.

Beyond the curtain of magically-bespelled blooms, the sounds of the Malfoy's holiday party were muffled into insignificance, and Hermione could pretend as she stood in the shadows, if for only a few moments, that none of the people on the other side of this beautifully cultivated shelter existed. Pretend that most of her friends had not died in the war. Pretend that she was not married, was not tied to a man she didn't respect or care very much for, and was not starving for real companionship and love. Pretend that the world as she knew it was not the real world at all, but merely a smoke-and-mirror dream that haunted her subconscious, much as the Sackman had done to her when she'd been a small child.

"This is _my _hiding spot, Granger."

Hermione shook her head and sniffed with cynical amusement. It figured _he'd _be hiding out here, too. If there was one thing she'd learned about Draco Malfoy in the last three years, it was that the man was a consummate dodger. The only thing he'd ever been pinned down on was honouring the War Accords that she'd helped negotiate.

"Zabini," she reminded him with a small smile, used to him referring to her in such an irreverent way by now. Still, she stuck to the script of their funny, little ritual; every time he called her 'Granger', she reminded him of her married status to his best friend. "I haven't gone by my maiden name in a long while now… as you're well aware."

Oddly, Draco was quiet for a moment in the face of that gentle admonition. Usually, he'd immediately quip back something about 'Hermione Zabini' sounding like some sort of poorly conceived Italian dish, or worse, a viral epidemic. This time, however, there was a strange pause, as if he were considering his reply with some serious thought.

"Habit," he finally replied in excuse, stepping into a sliver of light cast from the direction of the fully-lit house across the yard. "I knew you by your family's moniker a dozen years before you married Blaise. You'll always be Granger to me, no matter how you sign your last name." Slim, elegant shoulders raised in a nonchalant shrug, dismissing the matter with casual ease, returning them to a more comfortable level of friendly antagonism once more. "So, why are you ducking out of my party?"

"Why are you?" she countered. "You're the one throwing this shindig, after all."

That roguish smirk that had always secretly amused her crawled up his cheek and the light of mischief sparkled in his eyes. "Actually, it's Astoria's idea. I loathe parties - too much politicking for my tastes."

"You're fibbing. Everyone knows your new nickname over at the Ministry is 'The Knave'," she pointed out, "and for good reason. You're as sly as a... ferret."

His smirk bloomed into a brilliant grin. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

She laughed. "Not in my lifetime, no."

He stepped towards her then, until they were improperly close. "What would it take to induce you into forgetting?"

Discomfited by the uncharacteristic quick switch in his moods once more and by how near he stood, Hermione tightened her fur coat around her shoulders and stepped back to put a little space between them. The gardens hadn't been charmed for warmth, only for beauty, and winter's chill had set in. And, if she were completely honest with herself, Draco Malfoy did things to her sanity with a simple look, and she felt vulnerable before his unwavering silver gaze. It was mortifying to know the boy she'd openly despised throughout her childhood had grown into a man she was secretly attracted to – that, despite the fact he'd been a member of the Order of the Dragon, her enemy in the war, and that she was married to his best friend.

"Don't you think you ought to get back to your guests?" she asked with a hint of nervousness, taking another step away.

Draco stepped forward a second time, closing the distance between them once more. "I'm not concerned. Why are you? You despise most of the people in there anyway."

It was her turn to shrug... and take another couple of steps back. "True, but you're being a terrible host."

Her shoulders collided with a thick Wisteria vine, bringing her retreat to an abrupt halt.

She turned her head for only a moment to look for an alternate escape route, but before she could move, Malfoy was suddenly standing in her personal space, pressed in very close to her. His arms shot out to either side to block her hasty flight when she attempted a dodge and weave manoeuvre.

Her heart in her throat, she was suddenly, painfully reminded of that one time back in sixth year, when they'd been in this same exact position...

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded of him.

Draco's expression was now completely unreadable to her, as he'd moved into a rather dark shadow. His body was silhouetted by the light behind him, however, and his hair was as bright a beacon as a star against the black backdrop of the night-time sky.

"Testing a theory."

So, he wanted to play a game of flinch with her, just as he had back at school. Well, she wouldn't be the one to back down first! Never had she let this wizard intimidate her before, and she wasn't about to start now. "What theory - the one where I hex you into oblivion for attempting to intimidate me?" She shook her head in disappointment. "Really, Malfoy, I thought we were beyond such base amusements."

His low, suggestive chuckle stirred the hairs on the back of her neck and caused a shiver to dart up her spine. It was not a reaction brought on by fear, though. No, it was the crackling heat of unexpected desire that shot through her, making her pulse race.

"I'm shocked you think that way, Granger. There's absolutely nothing sordid about you."

As his head dipped, lowering until their noses brushed, the instinctual voice of sanity in Hermione's mind screamed at her not to let this thing that was about to happen actually come to pass, for once it did, it knew that everything would change for her, for him... for their spouses and the Accords they had vowed to honour three years ago.

"But you're certainly a recreation worth pursuing," he whispered.

"That's not what I meant-" she disputed in a half-hearted whisper of her own.

His chilly lips brushed with all the softness of a butterfly's wings against her own lips, cutting her off. Once, twice, three times her sensitive mouth was plucked before all rationality slipped away and she opened up to him, responding to his coaxing kisses.

Hesitantly, gently they explored each other, kissing for but a fraction of a second and pulling away over and over again, teetering on the edge of full commitment. Their breaths mingled, and she tasted upon his tongue and lips the champagne and fresh fruit that had been served as a social appetizer by the wait staff inside.

To her pleasant surprise, Draco Malfoy kissed with a reverence and care she hadn't expected a man of his temperament capable of displaying, especially to the likes of her. Was this what it might have been like if she'd closed those inches between their mouths back then in that darkened corridor, back when they'd been children standing unknowingly on the brink of a war about to explode around them? Would he have claimed her lips with this same, gentle touch?

When he ended the kiss with a final nip to her and pulled back, she longed for him not to put distance between them again.

"I knew... you should have been mine." He murmured so low she almost didn't catch his words.

They registered a beat later, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was in a very compromising position - _with her husband's best friend! _Pushing against him at the same time as stepping to the side, Hermione managed to move Draco enough to squeeze by and to put some distance between them. "I... I should-"

"Go inside."

Draco's tone suggested he was not advising her so much as proposing that she had a choice in the matter. The implication was, of course, that if she decided to shun the party to stay put, she would end up doing more than just a trivial, pardonable amount of kissing with him.

True to his Slytherin legacy, The Knave merely proposed an alternate path for his opponent's consideration - and would allow whatever happened next to fall entirely upon the other party's head. Her head, in this case.

Clever ferret.

Gathering the edges of her long coat, she pulled it tight around her middle. "Yes, I think I'll go back inside." That was the smart move, after all, as it prevented not only an act of recklessness that was sure to bring regret and consequences later, but it was also a win for her self-respect. Besides, meaningless kissing could be blamed on one too many glasses of wine, but anything more could not. She'd get out now with her pride only a tad bit dented, but still intact. "Thank you for a lovely party. Happy Christmas, Draco," she formally offered.

He stepped into a sliver of moonlight coming through the vine canopy above, and that sexy, damnable smirk was back on his face. "Happy Christmas... my Granger."

She beat a dignified retreat, heading towards the house on shaky knees, but with measured step, returning to the world of lights and noise. Every step took her closer to unhappiness, and yet Hermione knew she was helpless but to go forward, for going back was much too dangerous a hazard for both her sanity and her lonely heart.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England – 24 December, 2007, Evening**_

The Wisteria tunnel was as beautiful as Hermione remembered, and as usual, its flowers bloomed with the aid of magic. She wondered if they'd wither and die off completely if the magic was taken away and they were left to return to their instinctual life cycle. Had these vines been so long accustomed to being manipulated by an outside force that they would be incapable of survival and new growth on their own?

As she strolled under the overhanging arch, she noted how quiet it was inside this fixed shelter; the boisterous sounds of yet another Christmas party inside the Manor house were muffled by the effective barrier they provided. She raised a hand and let her fingertips caress the soft, purple petals above, imagining what it would feel like to lie naked in a bed of them, letting them cushion her upon their silky surfaces. The petals of Wisteria were not as flimsy and yielding as English roses or Buttercups, nor were they as rigid as Lilies and Chrysanthemums. No, Wisteria had a type of smoothness to them that closely resembled the velvety face of Tulips or Gardenias.

"My grandmother, Madeline, created this garden when she'd been a newly married witch."

Hermione paused between one step and the next, dropping her arm.

Draco's footsteps on the stone walkway drew closer. "She loved Wisteria. It was her favourite flower."

He paused somewhere off to her left, and Hermione turned to see what he was about, unsure of his intentions. It was only the year before that they'd been alone in this garden, and then they'd both behaved inappropriately, and she wanted to be sure to avoid a repeat.

Truthfully, the memory of that time in Draco's arms had haunted her enough that she'd gone out of her way to avoid him ever since. There had been no evading him all together, given that he was Blaise's best friend, but thank goodness a Slytherin's idea of the degree of affection that designation entailed was not the same as a Gryffindor's or a Ravenclaw's or a Hufflepuff's. Dinners once a month with the Malfoys, and attending an occasional Quidditch match together had been unnerving enough for her, especially when she'd felt his knowing stare frequently turned upon her during those times. It seemed worse when she was forced to conversationally interact with him, hearing the double entendres in his words, even as their spouses sat mere feet away. And that damnable, sexy smirk of his - it was warmer and sensual whenever it turned on her, secretly daring her to kiss it away.

Gah, she was entirely too enamoured with a man she should have been wise enough to avoid at all costs!

The current object of her secret, growing obsession moved forward through the shifting degrees of moonlight to examine a Wisteria bunch, cupping its weight in a palm and running a thumb over the lavender-coloured petals.

"When Madeline died, my grandfather, Abraxas, was devastated. He filled her casket with Wisteria flowers and buried her outside the family crypt just so he could train a Wisteria vine to wrap around her tombstone. It was his symbolic way of holding her forever, I think." His voice grew a bit sentimental, and his grey eyes a bit misty. "A Malfoy man, he'd told me just the year before, only ever loved once, and did so until his last breath. I was too young to appreciate the sentiment then, but I've never forgotten it."

Captivated by the story, Hermione couldn't help but ask, "How did he die?"

Draco turned his head and met her curious gaze. "Father explained it as a weakness of character. He and his father had never gotten on, you see. My mother, who knew my grandfather well, had a decidedly kinder explanation: she said Abraxas' heart had been broken in half with Madeline's passing, and there was no putting it back together. Either way, the old man's health deteriorated fast. Within a month, my father and mother had him in St. Mungo's to see if anything could be done to stave off his body's growing frailty. By chance, he happened to have been boarded in a room adjacent to a foreign traveller sick with Dragon Pox. He was exposed, and too weak to fight it off. He succumbed to the disease very quickly." He gave a small, sad smile. "I was only eight at the time, so they wouldn't let me see him because they worried about me contracting the sickness."

"Because Dragon Pox is known to be an airborne illness that strikes fast and is fatal to the very ill, the elderly, and the young, but survivable by adults," Hermione added.

Draco nodded. "Fortunately, the Healers were able to stop a Hospital-wide outbreak and to inoculate my parents before they could bring it home to me, but they could do nothing for my grandfather." He dropped his hand back down, shoving it in one of his trouser pockets. "He died within two days. I never had the chance to say 'good-bye'."

"I'm so very sorry, Draco." Hermione felt saddened not only by Draco's loss of a man he'd obviously loved, but also by the conjured vision that his tale had evoked – that of a cold, lovely old woman lying in a casket, surrounded by fragrant Wisteria, and an elderly wizard bowed by the weight of his immense grief hovering at the side of her lifeless form. "You and your grandfather were close?"

He nodded. "More so than with my own father."

This was the most open he'd ever been with her, and she wondered at the change. Had the events of last Christmas softened him towards her, or was it simply the magic of this place playing its charm upon him? The Wisteria garden seemed to affect her similarly, she'd noticed. Walking under its sweet-smelling boughs was like passing through a dream, as time seemed to slow and the outside world's clamour to mute.

Tilting his head, staring long and hard at her, Draco added, "My mother said the last word Abraxas uttered was my grandmother's name, and that the last word Lucius spoke before he died was my mother's, so I suppose it's true about the utter devotion that Malfoy men have for the woman they love. Only once, and forever."

The atmosphere was suddenly charged with an array of unspoken thoughts and undeclared feelings, not all of them Hermione could fathom just then, much less name. Draco was mercurial and so difficult to read at times, and her own emotions were jumbled whenever he so much as stood in the same room as her. That he should affect her so was... disconcerting.

Heart racing under her breast, Hermione forcibly turned away, taking a seat on a nearby bench. She kept her knees together and her hands in her lap. "It is lovely here," she admitted, focussing on a hanging gathering of blossoms that were within reaching distance. Distracting them from the charged topic and angling towards safer conversational grounds was imperative if she was to keep her wits about her. "I can certainly admire your grandmother's choice in flowers. Wisteria is not just a blossom of beauty, but it's also a rather feisty species... while at the same time, it retains a bit of mystery."

"Not unlike some women I know," he supplied, a smile tugging at his lips as his mood turned playful.

"I think those are charming traits," she countered, grinning, and it became clear he was no longer talking about the flowers, but about her.

He chuckled. "Perhaps, but it's also an invasive species, certainly troublesome in its determination."

Shaking her head, she debated, "It's merely spirited."

He paused, his expression shifting again, his smile curling with suggestive heat. "Don't forget one of its more fascinating attributes: it's sensual without intending to be. There is a depth to its beauty that other flowers in the garden distinctly lack."

Her attention transferred from her observation of his firm, generous mouth to his eyes, wary and watchful, hearing the implied compliment. "I would say you're mistaken. An accomplished skill in executing elegance to match a given situation is hardly equivalent to possessing a natural sensuality."

With a quick, bold step, he crossed the space between them and got down on bended knee before her. His hand stretched out and very gently touched the back of her hand. "I would argue that sensuality is not something learned, but innate, much like compassion." He caressed with tender, seductive intent over her fingers. "Both are equally rare qualities to find today and it is an extraordinary thing to come across an example of the two virtues combined in a single bloom. A man would be lucky to do so - and a complete fool to turn away from it."

Hermione's pulse thrummed through her body, tightening her throat. Her belly fluttered with nerves. "Draco..."

Before she could stop him, he reached up and cupped her cheek, closing the distance between their mouths. This time, his kiss was heated, provocative. It didn't coax, it plundered, taking where before it had asked permission.

Trembling against him, Hermione fought against surrendering to his kiss, her desire to do so warring with her common sense. Draco would not take her rebellious, silent 'no' as an answer, however. "Open up," he cajoled in a tender whisper between pulls of lips. "Let me in, you maddening, stubborn woman."

She pushed against his shoulders, turning her head. He didn't budge, foiling her attempts to put distance between them. His mouth continued to follow hers, stroking over her tightly pressed lips, begging for entrance.

"We can't-" she protested.

The moment her mouth opened to speak, Draco took advantage. His tongue thrust past her parted lips, cutting off the rest of her objections, sinking deep and consuming her like Fiendfyre. She gave in, her desire for his affection incinerating any further moral opposition.

She sobbed into the kiss, not in objection, but because it was good. His taste was as she remembered it, only with more passion, more heat. It was spicy and demanding, blazing through her senses and softening her bones. His big body nudged her knees apart, settling between them with a sense of permanence, and she was startled to note how right it felt to have her legs surround him. He reached up and cupped the back of her head, pulling her in tight, preventing any possibility of escape. Not that she intended to fly away from him again; he'd grounded her with his kiss and his hands and his soft moans held her in the moment.

Her fingers seemed to have a life of their own, carding through his soft, platinum hair. He liked the attention, encouraging her touch by mimicking her motions through her own curls. His fingers threaded her locks, tangled in them, relaxing her even as his mouth gentled and slowed. When he pulled his lips away from hers, she whimpered.

"Hermione..." he breathed in her ear as he nudged her lobe with his nose, "you taste so sweet."

He pressed reverent, light kisses down her throat, pausing just above her excited pulse, and she titled her head to give him better access. Draco took her cue, lingering over the spot, his teeth nipping at it once, twice. A heartbeat more, and his mouth latched on to the tender skin, and he suckled with wet heat. At the same moment, the tie on her halter dress was loosed by a clever tug of his hand, and the fabric swept downward by his stroking fingers. His nails caressed very gently over an exposed nipple, and Hermione's whole body shuddered. Electric currents of desire shot from the areas where his lips and his fingertips were touching down the length of her belly and into her thighs, moistening her core.

Her elevated desire aroused his. With a low groan, his mouth moved, trailing a scorching path over the hollow of her throat and down, until his lips finally covered her blushing, tight nipple. She strained against him, wanting more, needing more. Burying her hands in his baby-fine hair, she held him to her and wrapped her legs around his waist, tightening her knees to pull him in even closer.

In a smooth lift and turn, he was up off the ground and had her lying back onto the flat, marble bench. She'd hardly noticed how cool it was against her bare back as he'd straddled its great width and widened her legs to fit snugly between them so her centre and his met, warming her instantly. His mouth returned to its pleasurable pursuits, grazing the hard tips of her breasts with his teeth and licking over them with a wicked, wet tongue.

Hermione ached for more. Raising her hips, she rubbed against his hard erection in a slow glide. He shuddered and moaned, engulfing a nipple into the moist cavern of his mouth once more. He shifted slightly, and his hands were suddenly on her thighs, smoothing her chiffon dress up over her hips. Tracing the swirling embroidered designs on her lace-and-silk panties, he stirred her arousal higher. When at last his sly fingers ducked under the band of her knickers, and stroked between her bare, slick labia, they both gave a deep, satisfied moan.

Draco lifted his mouth to hers, sinking his tongue inside, even as two fingers pierced her opening and thrust up into her.

"You're so wet," he murmured in appreciation, slowly stroking into her core, "so tight and wet."

Digging her fingernails into his shoulders, Hermione held on to him as shards of exquisite sensation rocked through her. Never had she felt such amazing feelings.

"Gods, I dreamed of this," he confessed around sweet kisses. "I prayed for it. Tell me you've thought of this since Christmas, too."

Around the ravenous feasting of his mouth, Hermione nodded. "Don't stop, please." Her hips swayed upwards to meet his hand's motions. "I need-"

"I know what you need, my Granger. I'll give it to you."

His emphasis on 'my' was not to be easily forgotten, the possessiveness in his tone absolute. It frightened Hermione, at the same time as it pulled her in and drew her under his spell. To be his... it was an improbable dream. She pretended, nonetheless.

Pretended that when he slipped her panties down her thighs and stretched between them, and when he pressed that first gentle kiss to her clitoris that this was not true infidelity, for she and Blaise had never consummated their marriage and neither loved the other. Pretended that what they were doing was not wrong, but some odd twist of Fate, for her body reacted to his touches and caresses as it never had for anyone else. Pretended that the feelings beating in her wild heart were returned by the man who so tenderly and quickly brought her to a shattering orgasm, for it pained her to believe otherwise. Pretended that when he lifted his mouth back to hers that his kiss was that promise of forever that he'd told her the men in his family were noted to give to that one special witch...

"We should stop here," he wisely advised while placing lazy kisses upon her jaw and throat. "Unless-?"

She knew what he was asking, and was even tempted to give it to him right then and there. A Christmas present, she could later claim, if he cornered on the matter. But it wouldn't be right. They'd already broken so many rules, jeopardizing their marriages... and the Accords. They'd acted rashly and without regard for the world outside of the Wisteria Garden. If anyone were to come across them as they were, they'd doom not only themselves and their spouses, but the whole peace process.

Besides, she truly had no idea how he really felt about her, aside from sexual interest. She had no wish to be hurt by an affair that would be a one-sided interest.

And there was no denying the fact that what she felt for him now was anything but casual. She was too ensnared by Draco Malfoy, much as his political opponents found themselves, and she feared the consequences. Not long ago –_merely four short years–_ they'd been on opposite sides of the war. Prior to that... well, it wasn't as if they'd ever been civil to each other, not until the Accords had required it.

Yet, he seemed entirely earnest as she peeked up at him now. His expression was careful, but not completely guarded; there was lust and longing in his face, but it was for more than just her body. There was a loneliness that matched hers etched into the lines around his eyes and mouth. Was he so very unhappy with Astoria, she wondered?

At the reminder of his marital status, her decision was made.

"We need to stop."

For an instant, regret flashed through his eyes. Clearly, he'd wanted her to choose the other path – the one more dangerously travelled. With a sigh, he acquiesced to her choice, however, and sat up, helping her to do the same. Politely, he slipped her feet through her knickers and aided her in sliding them back up her body.

As he tied her halter back around her neck, while she held her hair to the side to avoid it tangling, he pressed a small kiss to her pulse once more.

"You know it's going to happen, eventually," he stated. "Seeing you even once a month for the past year has done nothing to stave off my want of you." He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her hairline. "I will have you."

Hermione's heart tripped in her chest. "Don't say that! You know this has to end - for the Accords, for Astoria, and for Blaise, you have to let me go."

His hold tightened for a fraction of a second, before he loosened them just enough to grip her by the waist and turn her, forcing her to face him. He cupped her jaw and tilted her chin up so their eyes met. There was a resolve in his ice-filled gaze as he stared down at her. "You will not avoid me any longer."

"Please don't do this," she whispered, genuinely upset. "It's wrong. It was just a-"

"Don't say 'mistake'," he warned her, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you dare. This... this was inevitable between us. We've been after each other since we were eleven, always hovering and sniping, afraid to get close because of our upbringings, but secretly wanting to. Don't bother denying it. We both know you wanted me to kiss you that time in sixth year."

She'd hoped time had dulled that incident from his memories, as she'd tried her best to put it from her mind thereafter. It seemed, however, that one run-in had left an indelible mark upon Draco – just as it had upon her, no matter how she'd silently admonished herself on the matter in the years following. "Our past doesn't matter," she replied, stubbornly holding to what she believed to be the correct course. Pulling away from him, she stepped back and held out her arms in warding when he tried to close the gap. "We're both bound by our oaths. We've slipped up here, twice, but... we can't let it happen again." She raised her chin and met his eye. "I won't let it. We have to uphold the new laws, or the reconciliation between our sides will splinter and we'll end in another civil war. I won't have that on my conscience, Draco."

She started past him, heading for the tunnel's exit, but Draco's next words gave her pause.

"The Accords aren't justice, Granger. They're nothing more than petty revenge by those who felt wronged by the war... and the misguided relief of conscience for those who felt guilty for their actions in battle. You knew that when you helped negotiate them."

Hermione didn't dispute that he was wrong. In fact, she knew he was spot-on with his assessment. Still, that didn't mean he was one-hundred percent right, either. "The two Orders did a lot of damage, Draco. When Harry and Voldemort fell, we should have all put down our wands and called it over. But we didn't, and so it falls to us to make right the wrongs we committed," she argued. "Both sides have a lot to atone for."

"Someone had to pay the price," he bitterly agreed. "But what you all failed to recognize is that no amount of penance will undo any of it. And the fact that we've compromised our society's freedoms to achieve peace in the time since the Accords were signed doesn't make it much of an ideal solution to me, either." He sniffed in cynical amusement. "In fact, I find it fairly entertaining to note that the Dark Lord -the one who started all the fighting, and who everyone cursed as an evil man- espoused the same rhetoric as the current Ministry does regarding the loss of civil liberties being for the greater good. Don't you find that ironic?"

She didn't answer him. She couldn't, really, for his wisdom hammered away at her sense of right and wrong, bringing into the forefront of her thoughts her part in the new government's ultra-conservative rule-making. As a junior member of the new Wizengamot and one of the key players who had helped draft the Accords, she'd been responsible for the trap she currently found herself in – wanting back her personal autonomy so she could divorce Blaise and be free to love whomever her heart desired. On the other hand, she understood the need for the unification effort and that the passage of restrictive laws was important to maintaining peace.

With those thoughts rioting around in her head, she hurried back inside. She did not see Draco again for the duration of the party.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_An Historical Aside..._**

In her sixth year at Hogwarts, Hermione had almost kissed Draco Malfoy.

Almost.

She'd been conflicted by the contradicting emotions left in the aftermath of that near miss, and the question of, 'what if?' had occasionally haunted her in the years since.

After having accidentally walking in on Won-Won and Lav-Lav fawning all over each other in the Gryffindor common room one night in late March, Hermione had decided to do an unscheduled Prefect patrol around the castle, needing to get away from the irritation that was Ron's relationship with another woman.

She hadn't meant to follow Draco when she'd first spied his distinctive platinum head rounding a corner on the second floor level. It was hearing the door to the girl's loo creak on its hinges as it was opened that had captured her curiosity and had her feet travelling in his direction. No one went in there, as it had always been Moaning Myrtle's favourite stomping grounds. Further, Draco had no business visiting a women's toilet; the boy's loo was down the other end of the hall.

Seeing it as her duty to keep the school rules, as well as a chance to take points from Slytherin House, she'd followed him into the restroom...

...and had found him hurriedly splashing water over his face from the sink, his usually well-disciplined features tight with a peculiar panic she'd never witnessed him display before.

His head had jerked up at the sound of the door opening, and their eyes had met in the vanity mirror situated over the basin. They'd stared at each other in silence for long moments, both with wide-eyed expressions.

In that split second, Hermione had known that something was terribly wrong with Draco. Instinct had told her that he was in some sort of trouble, and the look on his face had only served to confirm that suspicion. Quickly, she'd glanced around for Myrtle, but it seemed as though the ghost had chosen that particular hour to be absent from her usual haunt.

With wand tightly in hand, Hermione had stepped the rest of the way into the loo. "Are you all right?" she'd hesitantly asked him, shutting the door behind her. "Are you ill? Do you need help?"

Like water sheeting over glass, wiping it clean of imperfections, Draco's horror had melted away in an instant, relaxing his eyes, jaw, and mouth. A heartbeat later, he'd slipped back into the smooth, almost bored expression she'd grown used to seeing from him that year. "Always the quintessential Gryffindor, Granger – sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Bugger off."

"You're in the women's," she'd pointed out, "and out after curfew. I could take points."

He'd barked a laugh at her threat. "You think I care about something as insignificant as the House Cup?" His icy-grey eyes had met hers as he'd turned to face her. In his hand he'd held one of the folded hand towels that had always lay in a pile next to the sink areas. He'd used it right then to pat down his face and neck, and then he'd tossed it to the floor without a care. "Read the news lately? There are more important things happening in the world right now, don't you think?"

It had occurred to her then that Harry just might have been right about the level of Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Lord, and a tremor of fear had run through her at the thought. "Have any intimate details you'd care to share on the subject?" she countered his question with one of her own, refusing to be intimidated by him. "I'm all ears."

That had been the first time she'd seen _the smirk_.

It hadn't been the expression he'd typically utilized over the years, which had been trademarked with a very Malfoy-ish sort of charm: that of a malicious sneer combined with a smug arrogance. Instead, the smirk he'd given her that night had been all boyish amusement, with a surprisingly dollop of respect to its curve.

It had completely taken Hermione by surprise, and had lowered her defences by a notch.

Draco, apparently, had been counting on that effect, and had used the distraction to step closer to her. With his hands empty, and his wand nowhere in sight, he'd walked half the distance of the floor between them before she'd remembered that even unarmed and appearing charming, no Malfoy was ever truly harmless. She'd raised her wand to halt his step and he'd complied as she'd expected. She'd then double-checked the length of his form for any hint of his wand in easy each, just to be on the safe side, but could see not see a familiar edge sticking from his pockets or attached to a side holster.

His smirk grew as he slowly stepped forward, playing a game of chicken with her.

"Looking for an excuse to hex me?" he'd taunted.

She'd met his stare once more without fear. "Do I need one?"

He'd chuckled, and the sound had raised goosebumps upon the backs of her arms, because like his smirk, his amusement had held heat... and the type of warning that had nothing to do with violence, and everything to do with sexual hunger.

"Do you want one?"

She'd prepared a defensive spell in her mind then, letting it rest on the tip of her tongue, even as he'd stalked closer.

"You need to go back to your dormitory now," she'd advised him.

He'd finally come to a halt again when the tip of her wand had touched the centre of his chest. "You're blocking the door," he'd pointed out.

As she'd dropped her wand arm to step aside so he could pass, he'd again taken advantage. Faster than she'd expected him to move, he'd stepped into her personal space and pressed their bodies together. His arms had shot out to either side of her, caging her between.

In silence, they'd stared at each other across the inches, measuring, judging. She'd tilted her wand in her wrist, and had tapped it against his side to let him know that she'd held the power to do the greater harm, should he push for conflict. Draco, however, had seemed completely unfazed by the threat.

"It's not me you have to be frightened of this time, Granger," he'd murmured, dropping his attention to her lips.

"Thank you for the warning, but I still won't back down," she'd bravely answered, understanding that his implication went beyond just that moment in the bathroom. He'd been referring to Voldemort and his hatred of Muggle-borns, and the war that they both knew was coming very soon. "I'll fight with my last breath."

"Yes, I'm sure you would," he'd muttered, leaning his head closer. "You're not scared of anything, are you?"

His mesmerizing gaze had been wholly focussed on her mouth, and she'd cynically thought that for a pure-blood who had always claimed disgust for her blood status, he'd seemed awfully tempted by her mouth.

The truth had struck her hard then: Draco was thinking of kissing her.

That improbable thought had been followed by two outlandish others: would she let him... and if so, would she like it?

She'd stared back at his mouth, wondering what he would feel and taste like. Would he kiss like Viktor, sloppy and inexperienced, or would he know how to work her mouth in a way that would make her forget exactly who he was and what they'd always been to each other?

Realizing how insane her thoughts were, she'd forced her concentration back on their conversation.

"You're wrong. I'm scared. I'm just as human as you are," she'd reminded him, wanting to make that connection in his head and hoping it would stick. "But I won't let that fear stop me from protecting the people I love. I'll do whatever I must to save them, even if I'm damned for it later."

He'd stopped then, with his hot breath brushing across her lips and chin, so close to crossing a line that even she'd quivered before his indecision. His eyes had lifted to hers, and in the moment they'd met, she'd felt some fundamental shift in him. A resolve seemed to take hold of him, where before there had appeared a smidgeon of doubt.

Leaning away, he'd dropped his arms and the strange, awkward moment passed.

"You're blocking the door," he'd reminded her a second time, and then he'd smirked again... and it had been the familiar cruel expression she'd been used to seeing aimed at her. "I'm out past curfew, and it wouldn't do to get a detention. Not this year, anyway."

Realizing that he had no intention of attempting to cause her harm just them, but still not liking the shroud of darkness that had enveloped his tone, she'd stared at him with wariness. "You'll go right back to your common room?"

He'd huffed with amusement. "Sure, I promise."

"I mean it, Malfoy. No further stops or side trips. Go back to your common room immediately, or I'll have to report you to your Head of House."

"Fine, Granger. Just... get out of the way."

Stepping aside, she'd let him go, a shadow of uneasiness passing through her as he'd yanked the door open and stepped out. His footsteps had echoed down the corridor, heading towards the Grand Staircase.

Not wanting to leave the hand towel on the floor for the house-elves to have to clean-up, Hermione had gone and picked it up, intending on dropping it into the girl's dorms laundry chute in Gryffindor Tower upon her return. By the time she'd exited the second floor bathroom, Draco had been long gone.

He hadn't looked her way or met her eye once in their shared classes, in the dining hall, or in the corridors for the remaining two months of the term, especially after Harry had put him in the Hospital Ward after their fight in, of all places, Myrtle's bathroom a month later.

By that June, Death Eaters had been let into the castle, and the world as Hermione had always known it had changed in a flash of green and the death of an old man high up in the Astronomy Tower.

In the aftermath, for the first time, she had come to know the kind of fear that sunk bone deep into a person and threatened to crush out their hope. Sure, she'd been frightened many times before in her young life, facing one mad challenge after another for the first five years of her Hogwarts career, but nothing had terrified her quite so much as realizing, with Dumbledore's death, that it was very possible that they'd lose the war.

For a long time, she'd blamed Draco Malfoy for the loss of her idealism.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Now you know about the 'almost kiss' Hermione referred to a few times now. What did you think of that near miss?**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England – 24 December, 2008, Evening**_

Hermione had vowed not to return to the flowering tunnel this year, but all it took to lose her will was a single, heated smirk from Draco as he ducked out the back balcony and headed into the gardens. Drawn to the infuriating, intoxicating man in ways she could no longer deny, she decided to follow his lead and to see where this game or theirs would take them tonight.

Assuring Blaise and Astoria were engaged in a rousing conversation with Theodore Nott and several others of their social circle, she hurried out, trailing after the man she had unwittingly fallen in love with into the Manor's back grounds. On her way out, she hastily cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself so as not to be seen running off into the night.

As she'd anticipated, Draco was waiting for her under the twisting vines of the full-blooming Wisteria, hands in the pockets of his fashionable trousers, his face cast in shadow. Cautiously, she approached him, the clipped sound of her heels on the stone path loud as she crossed the entryway. She froze after two steps, embarrassed that she hadn't considered a muffling spell for her feet.

"I knew you couldn't stay away, my Granger."

Dropping the charm around her, she melted into his view, and stepped further inside the enclosed space. "This is foolish, Draco."

"And yet you still came," he pointed out.

Clasping her fur coat about her, she sighed. "How could I not? It's become our... tradition."

"Is that what we're going to call it?" There was a teasing lilt to his tone. "I thought 'affair' was a much more honest term."

She raised her wand and _Silenced_ the entire tunnel with a non-verbal command. "You're taking an awful lot for granted, don't you think?"

For the past year, she had played at ignoring Draco's flirtations as much as possible, the same as the year before. This time, however, he'd refused to let her get away with it. At every chance, he'd appeared at her office door at work, his own only a level higher. By April, he'd managed to coax her into sharing their lunch hours together. At first, it had been awkward, but by May, they'd become fast friends. He'd frequently send her silly interdepartmental notes to cheer her, and on her birthday, he'd given her a vase flowing with Wisteria and tulips. Planned dinners together with their spouses in tow were a bit odd for her, but she'd soon worked through the natural rhythm of those with the help of Draco's charming ability to steer conversations. Despite their increasing exposure to each other, she'd been very careful to keep him at arm's distance however, discouraging moments when things might have escalated behind closed doors.

Unfortunately, one cannot guard one's heart from love, not matter how rational one's brain.

Hermione's feelings for Draco only deepened over the last twelve months through their almost-daily interactions, irrevocably binding her to the doomed fate of holding a deep, abiding affection for him. He was a witty intellectual, cynical and yet rational. He made her heart patter like mad whenever he touched her or stood too near, and she'd gone to bed alone one too many times over the past several months dreaming of them together in a variety of erotic tales.

Still, as she stood teetering on the edge now, she realize what a dangerous sport their flirting and friendship had become, as she was seriously considering crossing lines tonight that could not be undone.

Could she really do this? It was such a very foolish idea...

He withdrew a hand from one of his pockets, and she saw the outline of his wand in his palm. With a non-verbal spell of his own, he transfigured the stone bench into a soft, comfortable Roman-styled lounger. His wand continued to snap and whirl as he cast another spell, but Hermione could not decipher what it was, as he'd done it without a voice command as well.

"What was that?" she asked, feeling the weight of his magic all around them.

"A spell that disguises this tunnel, to make it appear closed at both ends." He turned and headed for the lounger, throwing himself down onto it with a sexy, casual recline. "I don't want anyone to disturb us tonight."

She shook her head, and yet her feet had a mind of their own, taking her down the path, towards him. "This is madness, Draco. We're both married-"

"To people neither of us love."

"Astoria gave you a son less than two months ago," she continued to argue, grasping at straws to talk them both out of what was surely a rash and poorly considered scheme.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Necessity. I needed an heir before I got too old for one, so we bargained for it."

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. "What did you promise her?"

"Her freedom," he replied, "to take any lover she wished, as long as it was done discreetly. Monogamy was not explicitly stated in the Accords, after all, merely the restriction on divorce, and mental and physical abuse."

"And she offered you the same deal?" she asked, truly curious.

Draco held his hand out to her. "Of course she did, but do you think it really matters to me one way or the other? I'd have you as mine with or without her permission. Now come here, and stop fighting this. We've been playing with our mutual desire for years, prancing around each other. It's time this dance between us ended, Hermione."

She frowned. "So you're suggesting, what? That we become casual sex partners? That I become one of the first of your mistresses, now that Astoria's given you permission to dip your wick as you will?"

His scowl matched hers as he abruptly stood up and marched over to her until they were nose-to-nose. "There has _never _been anything casual between us, Hermione. Not ever. Not from the first time we spoke to this very moment. Don't insult the depth of my feelings for you." His hand burned as it gripped her arm and pulled her in tight to his body. "Only once, and forever, my Granger. You're the one."

Her heart burst into rapid, happy beats at his implication. "Am I to understand that… that-?"

"I'm in love with you, yes," he growled. "Bloody hell, I thought I'd been clear about that for the last several years! Have you not been paying attention?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You are the most intelligent person I have ever known, Hermione. You could skip circles around those idiots in the Ministry and on the International political arena. So, tell me why you've always been oblivious where I'm concerned?"

Hermione took a shuddering, deep breath and let it out in a slow rush. "Because love is blind."

He froze.

For long moments after her confession, the Wisteria garden was as silent as the falling snow just beyond its magical boundaries. Hermione became lost in Draco's eyes, and the moment grew thick with tense emotion. Both opened their mouths, but stalled, waiting for the other to speak first. It turned out they didn't need words, however, to convey what they were thinking as their expressions eloquently communicated long-hidden truths louder than their voices ever could.

"Well, it's about time," he finally whispered, breaking the stillness.

Dropping his mouth onto hers, he seared her with a kiss filled with passion and need. Gathering her up into his arms, lifting her from the ground, he carried her over to the lounger with a quick stride. As he set her back down on her feet, he parted their mouths briefly to shed her coat from around her. Laying it out on the day sofa, he cast a final charm over the whole area to keep out the cold, and then dragged her down into his embrace.

Knees trembling, blood racing, Hermione let Draco have her as she'd never done before with any man. Her surrender to him and their love was total, spurred on by her loneliness, and her too-long-repressed sexual hunger, and the need for honest affection. Lost within the fantasy of the Wisteria garden, she closed her eyes and gave into the waking dream of their romance, no longer needing to pretend the parameters of their relationship.

He laid her back against her fur, coming over her like a wave, all dominant male heat, and he worshipped her body in ways she'd only ever imagined before. His mouth and hands were devoted to her pleasure, bringing her once, twice, before letting her find a bit of rest from his arousing attentions. Panting and boneless, she'd watched as he'd positioned himself between her legs finally, tilting her hips upwards to welcome him inside her body. His first thrust was hard, sinking deep, and their mouths met on a shared moan. When he was seated completely within her, Hermione wrapped herself around him and let him slowly make love to her.

With rolling hips and a powerful rhythm he brought them together over and over, rewarding her gasps and little noises of pleasure with wet, gentle kisses. Her nails dug into his shoulders and back, spurring him on as they rode the edge of a shared bliss, but Draco was as careful and patience in his loving her as he had been in his courting of her. Continually he would bring them to the brink, and then slow, prolonging the sensations and intensifying her want for satisfaction. It seemed hours that he'd made love to her.

When he sensed her body beginning to tire, at long last he gave her the fulfilment she'd craved. Holding onto her hips, he plunged into her depths with full, unrelenting strokes. The pressure and angle was perfect.

"Let go for me," he bid, sweat dripping from his brow onto her breast. "Let go."

She did, flying into the rapture, arching her back and screaming his name.

Draco made a pain-filled noise as he stilled, coming deep inside her body a few thrusts later. "I love you, my Granger," he moaned, dropping his mouth to hers as he shuddered above her, filling her with his hot, sticky seed. "I love you."

As she returned the sentiment and he slumped into her embrace, she felt the sweetest tickle of Wisteria petals upon her cheeks. Looking up over Draco's shoulder, she could see them lightly falling all around, as if the garden itself approved and was showering them with blessings.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

Please remember that this was a fest piece, already completed before I began posting it here. The piece may not be as fleshed out as I'd have liked (or as you'd have wanted), but I've done the best to tell the story within the time frame I was given.

There is one more chapter after this one, so hang in there for the ending & **please review the story to this point, if you would be so kind! I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

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_**In The Afters...**_

Hermione and Draco's affair continued after that Christmas Eve, and they'd made it a tradition to meet and make love under the Wisteria as often as possible over the next few years.

To everyone's dismay, when Astoria's degenerative, genetic illness came to light in October of 2010, and the Healers had finally agreed by the following July that there was no cure to be found and that her suffering would only continue to worsen, she'd taken her life with a vial of poison one night. Blaise, her secret lover since the beginning of his marriage to Hermione, had been the one to administer the fatal drink at Astoria's behest. He'd then followed his lover into death by swallowing the remaining contents.

Draco and Hermione had both been very saddened by the loss of their significant others. Although there had been no romantic love for Blaise from Hermione, or for Astoria from Draco, there had been fondness and friendship. Draco's son, Scorpius, had been the most devastated, for he and his mother had been very close. Consequently, Hermione had been very discreet in her comings and goings from Malfoy Manor for the next year, helping Draco in any way he'd had need, but also assuring Scorpius was not disturbed by her presence so soon after his mother's death.

Although they were both now free, unfortunately, the War Accords still held them to the letter of the law; there would be no remarriage for widows and widowers of the Orders. As Draco had so correctly stated years earlier, the treaty had really been meant to be a punishment, not justice. At the time they'd been settled, Hermione had been too wrapped up in her grieving over lost friends, in her own guilt, and in the desire to accept some of the blame upon her own shoulders, and so she'd been less than astute for the long-term effects of some of the ideas she and the others had negotiated when penning the Accords. It was a mistake she'd bitterly regretted once it became clear that she and Draco could not be able to be together until something was done to overturn the law.

Fortunate for them, the tides of public discontent were always swirling, as cultural habits and ethics tended to be cyclical. Many changes in the social attitudes of Britain's wizarding population began to become apparent around the time of Astoria and Blaise's deaths. The end result of them was a change in management and an overturning of laws.

What had started out as small, tea shoppe-style complaints regarding some of the more strict laws that had been put on the books post-war eventually bloomed into public protests when the 'no remarriage' clause was made public issue by the press. Malcontent with the conservative values that had been put into law over the last decade, the ever-capricious electorate voted out the Minister in the summer of 2012, and replaced him with a more liberally-leaning candidate. By that same September, the Wizengamot –with a little help from both Hermione and Draco's political influence- had decided not to renew the War Accords of 2003 for another ten years, feeling the unification process had come along quite nicely over the last decade, and needed no further push from government. It was announced soon after that any marriages that had accompanied the Accords that wished to be annulled would be granted such status by the new Ministry, effective immediately.

In one year, with a little push behind the scenes by a certain knavish political figure and his equally vocal lover, the war was officially put to rest.

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_**TO BE CONCLUDED...**_


	6. Chapter 6 - Epilogue

_**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England – 24 December, 2012, Evening**_

"I knew I'd find you here."

Hermione turned suddenly at the familiar voice, and accidentally bumped into a bushel of Wisteria hanging low from the vine above her head.

"Did you expect me anywhere else on tonight, of all nights?" she quipped back, smiling.

Coming to her side and gathering her into his arms, Draco held her to his heart, giving her his abiding warmth once again. "I hate parties, too," he admitted with a sigh. "I'd much rather stay out here with you."

She chuckled. "This time, though, it's not just a simple Christmas party we'd be ducking out on, but our own wedding reception. No matter how I may share your sentiment, husband dearest, we can't leave our guests waiting on us for too long."

He leaned back and started down at her with those lovely grey eyes that were the same colour as the moonlight far above their heads. "Sod them," he smirked, waggling his eyebrows. "I intend to make you mine right here. You're my wife now, and this place, this Christmas Eve... it's all ours."

His words made things in Hermione's belly flutter with excitement, and she feeling a bit reckless, she nodded eagerly. Yes, sod their guests… they could wait a little longer for them to arrive and cut the cake. The world outside was something to be ignored just then, especially within the fantasy of the Wisteria garden, anyway. Here... here was where magic happened, and anything was possible.

Reaching into his robes, Draco pulled out his wand, and with a wave and a spell spoken under his breath, the loose Wisteria petals were gathered together from all up and down the tunnel to form a soft bed for them to lay back into. That done, he tossed his wand aside, and pressed a kiss to Hermione's lips - one that stole her breath. It was a claiming, mingled with the promise of forever, and she couldn't help but wonder for just a second if this was the kiss that he might have given her that night back in their sixth year at school, if things had been different between them then...

Slipping her fur wrap off her shoulders, and her silken wedding dress up her thighs, Draco claimed her for the first time as her husband, right there, under the enchanted blossoms of their Wisteria garden, on the most magical night of the year.

Christmas Eve would always be theirs.

_**~FIN~**_


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